Penitence
by mseyre
Summary: Post-Avengers. Loki is imprisoned on Midgard until he can demonstrate "repentance and atonement," but he's not interested in penitence. So far, he has successfully scared away every psychologist SHIELD has sent him, until a mysterious woman visits his cell one day...Loki/OC. A little darker than your typical redemption story.
1. Chapter 1

**Penitence**

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I'll only write this once. I own nothing. Thank you to Marvel for your characters, and to Tom Hiddleston for being the most adorably evil villain ever.

Loki awoke abruptly. That hiss of the door mechanisms opening and air flowing into his cell was always immediately followed by SHIELD agents brusquely grabbing him and chaining him to a chair in preparation for a visitor, and today was no different.

So far, his only visitors had been Fury, Thor, and a string of incompetent fools who called themselves "psychologists" and presumed to "assess his mental status." Contempt filled him as he thought of these so-called men who chose such an endeavor as a career. Certainly, Loki appreciated the value of the study of the minds of others, but only as a means to further his own agenda. Never as a worthwhile pursuit in and of itself. And certainly not something that required extensive research to grasp—it came to him as naturally as breathing.

As a result, he had easily dispatched of each man within a single "session." After all, he was practically the god of their profession, and they presumed to master him with their tricks?

Considering the fact that Thor and Fury had visited him only yesterday, and their visits were infrequent as he purposefully frustrated them, he could only presume that he was about to meet his seventh psychologist. A feral grin crossed his face.

Destroying these weak-minded mortal "experts" who cared so much for his "feelings" was the only entertainment he had in his prison. It was practically a sport to him. He was looking forward to this encounter, and could only hope that SHIELD had mustered up someone who would present him with some kind of challenge. Perhaps he would purposefully draw out the torture of his unwitting victim this time, to provide himself with further amusement.

His guards had secured him to the metal chair that was bolted to the floor of his cell, his arms behind his back and his ankles chained to the legs of the chair. Such restraints would have been no match for him at his full strength, but he had been unable to tap into his powers since his arrival on Midgard. He also lacked his supernatural strength and stamina. To Loki's dismay, he even learned that he was now even dependent on what passed for nourishment on Midgard—when he had literally thrown their disgusting food in the guard's face he had paid for his pride in an aching stomach, physical weakness and a foggy mind, until they brought him a meal again three days later. He had attempted to retain the last shreds of his dignity by eating slowly, but he still hated his own frailty and the loss of the only comfort he had—his pride.

Odin had not enlightened Loki as to what binds were placed on his powers, so he was left only to hypothesize at what caused him these limitations. Lack of magic was unsurprising, but how had Odin taken away the physical benefits of his immortality? Loki assumed there were enchantments on this prison hampering his abilities. The other alternative was too awful to consider, and he shoved it to the back of his mind.

To leave Loki subject to the very insects he despised was meant to wound his pride, or "humble" him as Odin would phrase it. As if the same trick that had tempered Thor's arrogance could do the same to Loki. He wondered how long he was meant to suffer thus until he moved onto the next phase of his punishment at Odin's whim—atonement.

Odin had been characteristically vague about the terms of Loki's punishment. "You have done much damage, my son." (Loki had spat at Odin's feet at the term "son", although the All-Father chose to ignore it.) "These failings require repentance and atonement. In that order. You will serve the remainder of your sentence on Midgard until I see that you have satisfied the terms of this punishment." Silent tears had fallen down Frigga's face as she pulled him into her arms and kissed his cheek. He had neither returned her embrace nor pushed her away. He wasn't sure which he had wanted to do more, anyway. He still wasn't sure.

Through the open door Loki heard the unmistakable sound of heels approaching and frowned. A woman? He had noticed that those who visited his cell so far had been exclusively men. After his performance with the Widow in the helicarrier, Loki had supposed SHIELD had wanted to protect their delicate Midgardian women from his threats of rape and violence. Anticipation caused his heart to beat faster—this would be fun. The weaknesses of women provided ample ammunition with which he could play.

A whiff of perfume, light but unmistakably feminine, hit Loki before he saw her. From the few Midgardian women he had seen, she appeared unremarkable for her kind. Her chestnut brown hair was worn in a sensible bun. Brown eyes framed by thick lenses, straight nose, and full lips were set in a pale round face with high cheekbones. Not ugly, but no great beauty either.

Her dress was professional and plain, white button-down shirt, simple silver necklace, black form-fitting knee length skirt and black leather heels. This female's attire accentuated her backside, which was generous in size compared to the rest of her figure. She allowed him a nice, albeit brief, view as she walked past him to her own metal chair, and he felt a twinge of arousal. As she turned to face him, sitting in her chair, he noticed that her breasts were somewhat larger than the average woman's, although they were modestly covered. His mind began to analyze the situation swiftly, attempting to uncover information about his opponent before the battle had even begun.

Loki's knowledge of Midgardian fashion was limited, but he knew that it was acceptable for women to dress like men in pants and flat shoes. Therefore, there were several possible explanations for her choice of attire. She knew that the skirt and heels accentuated her…assets. That much was clear from the way that the sway in her hips had become a bit more exaggerated as she passed in front of him, purposefully drawing his attention to her backside.

If she was acting on purpose, it was probably with the intent of distracting or disarming him. An attempt to gain the upper hand. It would be simple for her to deduce that it had been some time since he had been with a woman, or even around women. Besides his mother, he had not even seen a woman in the last six months. The last was the Black Widow, immediately before Thor transported him from Midgard to Asgard for punishment. Odin had kept him locked up for four months on Asgard to await his sentencing, and Frigga had been his only visitor in that prison.

Then, he had been immediately placed in this cell once sent to Midgard and had only been attended by men. It had been much, much longer since he had fucked a woman, however. Decades. She was clever if this was her intent, although it would not work on him. Loki had gone much longer without sex, and knew he could easily deny himself.

Loki examined her face as she perused his. Her eye contact was piercing, intense, and belied a keen intellect. Her features were carefully impassive, he noticed, and betrayed little of what she was thinking, but her eyes were expressive. He had noticed the lack of a ring on her left finger, which he knew to be the Midgardian way of signaling that one was married or engaged to be married. He suspected that she had not been with a man in a long time, either. Her calculating aura would be considered unappealing to most Midgardian men, who were too impotent and insecure to value strength and confidence in a romantic partner. Perhaps he could turn the tables on her if she was unused to male attention. He filed this knowledge away for later use.

Alternatively, the female could have dressed and behaved in this manner subconsciously. She looked to be in her thirties, a time when he knew Midgardian woman's fertility and desirability as partners sharply declined. Her dress could be a subconscious signal of desperation, advertising to men in general that she was available and willing. She could be compensating for low self-esteem, perhaps seeking the approval and desire of men, entirely possible considering her figure was slightly larger than the twigs most Midgardians worshipped for their beauty.

Or, her subconscious desires could be targeted directly at him. She would have certainly examined footage of him before this meeting. He looked into her face again and noticed no outward signs of sexual attraction. Her body language was poised and confident, shoulders back, head held high, legs crossed (allowing him to see more of her thigh, which was a nice balance between smooth and muscular, and also a little thicker than the average Midgardian woman's). Loki looked forward to shattering that careful composure. He leaned back in his chair a little more, spreading his legs further and signaling his own ease and male dominance by taking up as much space as possible given his restraints. She noticed his shift but displayed no obvious reaction.

The pair remained silent for several minutes, studying one another. Loki was unaccustomed to receiving such scrutiny, as he was typically the doing the scrutinizing, and it made him vaguely uneasy. He wondered if she was uncomfortable, too, attempting to make his gaze more piercing to unnerve her. Loki knew they were having a silent power struggle; the first to speak or break eye contact would lose.

Without averting her gaze from his, she reached down into her bag to pull out a small yellow tube. She uncapped it and slowly spread the clear substance over her lips, maintaining eye contact the entire time. It was sensuous, and he followed her movements with his eyes, shutting them briefly and swallowing hard to fight back the arousal that welled up inside of him. Damn. He had lost the first battle. When he opened his eyes, however, a grin spread across his face as he knew what his first move would be.

The woman was watching him with an unreadable expression, gauging his reaction. He thought he detected a hint of victory in her eyes—good. Let her think that she had the upper hand.

"So," he drawled, "Fury is changing tactics? He gave up on the useless psychologists and sent me a whore instead." His voice was somewhat hoarse from lack of use, but he supposed it added to the effect. He raised an eyebrow as he allowed his gaze to travel lazily over her body, from feet to face, making sure he paused on her breasts. Then he shrugged. "I suppose you will do, although I prefer my women without the extra meat." He made sure his tone was properly derisive, although in truth he did find her figure appealing. He wasn't called the God of Lies for nothing.

She flinched, although the movement would be imperceptible to a mortal, but she refused to avert her gaze. So he had struck a nerve, but she would not back down. Interesting. She was strong for her sex.

Then she looked down at her nails, inspecting them casually. "Hmm, to be a whore would imply payment, of which I am receiving none. Although I am your psychologist, and I am relieved to hear that your lack of sexual attraction towards me will keep our relationship more professional. It's such a drag, fending off the unwanted advances of clients." Her voice was clear and her tone light. Her eyes met his once again, this time her own eyebrow raised in challenge, awaiting his reply.

"I doubt very much that my advances would be unwanted. Your hips were practically shouting 'come hither' when you walked through that door. I wouldn't be surprised if your cunt was wet already," he hissed. His cutting remarks, meant to make her blush and squirm, instead caused steel to flash in her eyes.

"Have you ever heard of projecting?" she asked. The question was not rhetorical.

"No," he finally admitted after it became apparent she was waiting for an answer. Damn it, he hated admitting he didn't know something. Stupid mortal.

She grinned, raising an eyebrow and staring pointedly at his crotch, where his flimsy pants had grown a little tight at her earlier antics. "I think your cock might know. What was that you were saying earlier about 'extra meat'?"

He glared at her, fighting the urge to spit. How dare she attempt to humiliate him? And how had she actually managed to get the upper hand, even when he had seen it coming? Loki decided to switch tactics. "Fury is continuing this exercise in futility, then? Perhaps he is actually punishing all of the so-called psychologists in the country, seeing as I have sent them all running so far. It only took me ten minutes to dispatch the last one. Although he must be running out of the good ones if he is taking on volunteers such as yourself." His tone was biting.

To his surprise, she laughed, a brief laugh filled with dark humor. "Fury clearly fails to understand the lack of correlation between 'expertise' and 'effectiveness' when it comes to psychologists. I decided to help him out. Tell me, who was the last one?"

Loki narrowed his eyes. She was attempting to build camaraderie between them, which he certainly did not want, but he couldn't help it—he enjoyed bragging to someone who appreciated his efforts. He couldn't remember the last time someone wanted him to recount his victories. He conceded.

"Woodward."

"That insufferable prick," she scoffed. "Did he go on and on about Harvard and his APA award?"

"I hardly paid attention to his many accomplishments. But he was a fool to wear his narcissism so obviously."

"I hope you made him cry."

Loki's grin was menacing, and an answer in itself.

"What tactic are you thinking of using on me now?" she continued. "Since the 'whore' approach didn't work, and all."

Loki was unused to such directness. It threw him for a loop. She was attempting to get a rise out of him, but he chose to play along instead. "I'm afraid warning you would spoil the fun," he said.

Her answering smile filled him with excitement. A woman who liked a challenge? Oh yes, this would be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I have updated the previous chapter. The only important change is that Loki has discovered that his body is not as immortal as he would have assumed and has begun to wonder if Odin turned him human...

**Penitence**

Chapter 2

Loki could not get the woman out of his mind once she left. She was like a hook that had snagged in the fabric of his consciousness that he could not extract. Excitement flooded his veins in anticipation of her return the next day, finally setting his mind to a purpose. It was infinitely preferable to ruminating on his regrets and bitter memories as he had been thus far during his stay in this prison.

His options were limited as he plotted his next move with her. If only he had his powers…if only he weren't chained up like an animal whenever he received visitors. He wished that he could do something, anything to startle her, to throw her off balance. Odin must have known how his impotence would chafe. It had been so long since he tasted freedom, since he reveled in his power and vigor. This woman would serve as a suitable distraction for the time being, until he could find a way out of this cell.

A fleeting thought seized his attention—perhaps she could _be _his way out. Fury seemingly wanted Loki to become draft horse for SHIELD, assisting them with development of technologies as part of this "atonement" of which Odin had spoken. Loki had been given the impression that these idiotic psychiatrists and their talk of "feelings" were assessing his sanity and suitability for work. Loki refused to kowtow to SHIELD, his pride causing him to be contrary at every opportunity by thwarting these men's expectations of him. But what if he were to play along with this fresh one?

Surely, the woman was more intelligent and competent than all of her predecessors put together. Loki had already developed a grudging appreciation of her, and would have perhaps briefly enjoyed her company in another life. They could relate in their shared sense of superiority over their respective peers. There would be no shame in playing along with her for a while, appearing tamed enough to earn a modicum of freedom. When he had them all fooled, he would take his revenge or regain his independence, whichever suited him at the time.

An inner voice whispered his doubts…what would he do with the freedom he sought? What if he were still just a mortal once he left the cell, with no magic and no means? But he willfully ignored such inconvenient thoughts. He was still intellectually superior to the Midgardians, and would find a way. The only thing of which Loki was certain was that he could not abide being here for another three months. He was practically ready to claw off his own skin to relieve his boredom.

He fell into an uneasy slumber as he dreamt of being a man, surrounded by shadowy figures with no escape in sight and unable to elude their accusing voices. He dreamt of fear.

Once more, he was awoken by the sound of the door opening. His heart sped up in anticipation of the woman's visit, but it was simply the guard dropping breakfast in his cell. Loki sighed and walked over to pick up his meager meal of charred toast. At least the Midgardians weren't starving him…yet.

He plotted while he ate. How could he best the woman today? This was a war, and she had won yesterday's battle. He must win today's, without alienating her completely. His reformation must appear contentious in order for it to be believable. Loki began to run through his knowledge of the woman, searching for the flaw in her armor of confidence, wit, and sexual self-possession.

So far, he knew that she was unmarried, most likely single. He had irked her when he called her a whore, and she retorted that she was receiving no pay for her time with him. She must not be motivated by financial gain, or respect from her peers judging by her scorn for them. If she were successful in her endeavors with him, she would receive no recognition or glory from it. Her reasons for being here were personal, then. Loki needed to find out what they were, and dismantle them.

She was a better tactician than the other psychologists, who pried immediately into his past, trying to uncover his vulnerabilities and use them to expose his true nature. The woman would most likely attempt to endear herself with him and earn his trust before sliding under his skin to discover his weaknesses. Whatever he did, he must never grow to trust her. She was not his ally but his adversary, no matter how hard she would attempt to convince him otherwise.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and his guards coming through. He stood up before they could reach him and obediently walked to the chair, putting his arms behind him and spreading his legs so that they could secure his bindings. Loki could sense their suspicion at his compliance, as they were used to hauling him into place against his will. He hid his smirk at their unease, tension written in the lines of their bodies as they secured his manacles.

The sound of her heels traveled into the room again, and he straightened as much as he could in his chair. Today she wore a figure-hugging short sleeve green dress and the same black leather heels. It was modest, the fabric covering her skin from neck to knees. However, it did give him a nice view of her ass again, her hips swaying back and forth as she walked past him to her chair. He could have sworn she looked smug when his gaze returned to her face—she probably noticed where his eyes had been—and he scowled. It seemed she had noticed his predilection for her round assets and the color green. Thankfully he was prepared this time and easily fought back his lust. That particular trick would not work on him again.

"Good morning, Loki," she said, a small smile on her face. He noticed that she wore brighter lipstick today, her hair was loose around her shoulders and her glasses were gone, although the rest of her adornment remained simple and unchanged. Even the silver necklace was the same. He wondered if it had particular significance to her—another observation he filed away for later.

"Is it?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Her smile widened, revealing straight white teeth. "Why wouldn't it be?" she asked innocently, returning his question with a question.

His scowl deepened. "I should think the answer is obvious, considering our surroundings. Perhaps you are not as clever as our first meeting led me to presume."

She looked around the room and shrugged. "I've seen worse," she said, choosing to ignore his mild barb.

"I assume you are comparing my dwelling to the brothel where Fury discovered you?"

Her eyes ceased their perusal of the cell and turned sharply to meet his. Loki noticed that her cheeks had paled slightly, but she kept her features admirably unreadable. This human was skilled in hiding her reactions, and other mortals were probably fooled, but not him. He waited patiently for her reply, mildly surprised that his reflexively ornery response had struck such a nerve.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

Now his interest was truly piqued. He had inferred that she had some kind of vulnerability related to this subject, but he had not expected her to admit it so reaedily given her formidable persona yesterday. Today, however, she seemed softer. Of course, he would continue to be as hostile as possible. "How many men did you service there?" he spat. "Or were there women, too?"

"Men only," she said softly, a hint of sadness in her voice and eyes.

Loki frowned. This admission had to be calculated on her part. She knew that he would pick up on the fact that her answers were somehow metaphorical. She was inviting him to guess her hidden meaning, judging from the expectant look in her eyes. Loki thought through the subtext. The sexual implication held some truth. She had used his own carnal hungers against him yesterday in a play for power, and he sensed that it was not the first time she had done so.

He glanced over her figure again, searching for clues. Her legs were crossed once more and he could see the firm thickness of her thigh where her hem had inched higher, belying generous amounts of muscle underneath a thin layer of fat. She had most likely gained the extra padding after becoming less active. What he could see of her arms looked to be strong as well. Her bearing was poised and confident, slightly more masculine than that of most Midgardian females who tried to make themselves appear smaller in the presence of males. In some ways, she reminded him of the Widow. A former spy, perhaps?

"You worked in intelligence," he stated confidently, although it was truly no more than an educated guess.

A sorrowful smile ghosted across her face. "I see your reputation for cleverness was accurate. You're familiar with America's current wars in the Middle East?"

Loki nodded.

"I worked in military intelligence in Afghanistan at the beginning of the war," she said. "Women had not been a major part of America's military intelligence operations in past wars. I got…creative with my interrogation methods, to demonstrate my irreplaceable value to the team. The misogynistic bastards we questioned practically volunteered their secrets when my hand was on their cocks," she hissed.

Loki was silent, astonished that she was revealing her vulnerabilities so intentionally. Shouldn't she be guarding this information from him?

Her eyes glinted like steel, and Loki was grateful that their gaze was focused at the wall over his shoulder rather than on him. "It was child's play, getting them worked up and then giving them a taste of what they wanted," she continued. "I brought them to the brink, got the information I wanted, and left them begging me to finish them." She let out a humorless laugh that sent chills down his spine. "With their hands tied behind their backs, they couldn't exactly do much about it themselves. It was my one satisfaction, to deny them that."

She glanced at his chains, drawing attention to his exposure to the same torment if she so wished. He suddenly found it difficult to swallow, his mouth bone dry. So this is the trap she had set for him, when she had stoked his curiosity. She had wished to showcase her capacity for cruelty, and her lack of implicit boundaries. Did she think he would fear her, if given this information? Certainly he did not wish to suffer the same treatment, but he had survived far worse.

"A cheap trick," he said venomously. "One that will not work with me."

She laughed, and the sound was unexpectedly melodious and agreeable. Loki was somewhat shocked by her mercurial shift in mood. "I would not expect it to," she said. "Although I am flattered by your invitation to try. I'm not here to interrogate you, Loki."

"Then what are you here for?" he bit out, frustrated at being made to appear foolish.

"To help you."

Now it was Loki's turn to laugh, although his was decidedly dark and bitter in tone. "You presume to offer me assistance, mortal? You truly are a fool."

"I wouldn't be so dismissive if I were you," she warned.

His laughter only increased. "I do not fear you, woman."

"I'm not asking you to fear me. I'm saying you should value me." She leaned forward in her chair, her voice low enough that he had to cease laughing to listen to her. "I am your ticket out of this cell."

She knew she had his attention then, and sat back in her chair, satisfied that her trap had been laid. "But if you would rather stay here and rot, be my guest," she said calmly.

Her assertion of power over him was infuriating. He would not prostrate himself to this mortal, even if his refusal to do so meant that he spent the rest of his days alone in his cell. "Why should I bow to a whore like you?" he sneered.

"I am not asking you to bow, and I am not a whore," she said, voice clear and measured.

"Moments ago you confessed that your hands are as dirty as any harlot's. You are a whore."

"I am not."

"You are," he said, increasingly vexed by her stubbornness. Loki noticed the bite of the cuffs as he reflexively strained against them.

"I am not a whore. I am Rachel Campbell, and you will call me by my name instead of hurling insults at me."

Loki ground his teeth. He desperately wanted to destroy her careful composure, to know that his verbal arrows had some kind of effect on her. That anything he did had an effect. He still refused to be cowed by her threats of leaving him here, but realized he needed to change tactics if he truly wished to dismantle her.

"Rachel," he said, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue.

"Loki," she replied amiably. Nobody besides Frigga had said his name so warmly in years.

Charm had been one of his more effective weapons with women in the past, so he decided to dust it off and use it once more. He smiled tenderly. "A lovely name."

She had the audacity to roll her eyes at him. "Men. You're all so obvious. You aren't going to get your way through flirtation, Loki."

He bared his teeth, irked once more. "Insolent mortal. If I had my powers—"

"You would what?" she interrupted. "Make me sorry?"

"You would not dare disrespect me thus if I were not bound as I am," he growled, straining at his cuffs once more. His wrists were growing raw, and he felt a thin trickle of blood sliding down his left hand, reminding him of the dubious state of his immortality. He ignored the pain, continuing to fight his bonds.

"I wasn't trying to be disrespectful," she said, her tone solemn. "I was teasing you. I'm sorry I was insensitive."

He stilled. She was apologizing? His gaze bore into hers, looking for signs of deception. They were open and honest. Kind.

She continued, her voice gentle. "While I am apologizing, I am sorry about yesterday, too. I purposefully got you…excited…and I used that against you. It wasn't fair. Not that you play fair," she raised a manicured eyebrow at him. "I wanted to gain the upper hand with you early on, but I hope that we can treat one another as equals and partners from this point forward. I don't want our relationship to be a contentious power struggle. So, I'm sorry. That won't happen again."

Loki scowled. "To treat me as an equal is to be disrespectful. I am a _god_—"

"Not here, you aren't," she cut him off once more. "In here, you are a man. I am a woman. In this country, we are equals, and I do expect you to treat me as such," she said firmly. "That means no name-calling, no threats, no manipulation. From either of us."

He glared at her. An assertion of equality was presumptuous of her, but he had to admit that she had a point. Here, he was no prince of Asgard, no god. He was just…_Loki_. Her reply from earlier echoed in his head. _I am Rachel_.

Loki was no longer sure that he liked her, as she had mostly been infuriating today, but her presence was an improvement over the boredom of isolation. He softened his expression. He had so wanted to win today's battle, but he found the war too amusing to end it prematurely.

"Deal?" she asked.

He nodded tersely, refusing to submit too enthusiastically.

She smiled, and the expression appeared genuine. "Good. I like you, despite, you know, the fact that you insist upon slut-shaming me. And that you're basically a mass murderer." He flinched imperceptibly at the reminder of his deeds. "This is a proper agreement, so we have to shake on it."

"I would love to," he drawled, "but I appear to be a bit tied up at the moment…"

"I can be accommodating," she replied, standing up and walking behind him, presumably to shake his hand while it was chained behind his back since he doubted SHIELD had entrusted her with the key. He heard her pause behind him and rotated his head to see what had prompted her hesitation. Her warm fingers touched his wrist, under the cuffs, and he hissed as it stung. He forgot that he had rubbed them raw during his earlier struggles, and was now bleeding.

"Shit," she muttered, and then yelled, "Jack! Bring in a first aid kit and the key."

"It's nothing to worry about," he said quickly, hoping she would ignore them. If she thought about the wounds too much, she might realize that an immortal being shouldn't be wounded so easily…or have wounds that would take so long to heal, as they undoubtedly would. The last thing Loki wanted was for SHIELD to discover his newfound mortality.

"You're bleeding," she said, clearly intending to ignore his protests.

A guard, presumably the one Rachel had called Jack, came into the cell with a white box and the key, just as instructed. He handed her the box, then fidgeted with the key.

"Jesus, Jack, just release his hands. You know I can handle myself. Stay in the room if it makes you feel better."

Loki felt the key scrape in the lock, and then his hands were free. While he internally objected to Rachel's lack of fear towards him, he supposed that if he gained her trust the guards would be more lax with his security in the future. He would find an opening, and then he would show this woman her folly in mistaking him for an "equal."

His shoulders were stiff as he brought his hands forward, examining the damage. The wounds were actively bleeding, rusty blood dried in thin streams down his hands. This did not bode well for him. _Odin, what did you do to me?_

Rachel had been digging through the box and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid, cotton balls, some ointment and bandages. She pulled over the chair that the guards brought in for her, situating herself beside him. As she threw her long hair over one shoulder to get it out of her way, he caught the faint scent of lavender. It was oddly comforting, reminding him of the way his mother's…no, _Frigga's_ hair had smelled of roses.

Rachel was wetting the cotton balls with the clear liquid. "This is going to sting," she warned. "I don't want you getting an infection from those cuffs—God knows what bacteria were on those. Jack doesn't look like the type to wash his hands after he shits," she whispered in his ear conspiratorially. To Loki's surprise, he found himself chuckling softly at her joke.

"Hey," the guard said, offended. Loki caught Rachel wink at this Jack person.

Rachel's grasp was gentle as she held his hand, resting hers on his knee as she positioned his wrist. She was right, it did sting, but Loki had endured far worse. She flipped his hand over to clean the other side of his wrist, then repeated the task on the other side. Her touch was professional, not lingering anywhere it didn't need to, but soothing all the same.

She encircled each wrist with the ointment, then applied bandages. Apparently satisfied with her work, she removed her hands. Returning the materials to the box, she handed it to the guard. "Just leave the bandages on until I see you in the morning," she said to Loki. "I'll take a look at them then. Jack, can you have the first aid kit ready when I come tomorrow?"

"Aye, aye, captain," the guard named Jack joked, and Loki felt a hint of jealousy at the warm smile Rachel gave in reply.

She looked back at Loki. "Equals?" she said, holding out her hand.

He had almost forgotten about their deal. He gave her a lopsided smirk and put his hand on hers, returning her firm handshake, but did not release her hand. "Thank you," he said, maintaining intense eye contact. He watched with satisfaction as her pupils dilate just a fraction.

She squeezed his hand briefly and then let hers go limp, signaling that he should do the same. "You're welcome," she replied as he finally let her go, that warm smile on her face. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Loki had no idea what her return would bring, or what exactly he wanted from her now. He only knew that he was anxiously awaiting her return from the moment she left his cell.


End file.
